Lunch in the Great Hall was the usual brand of chatter and clinking cutlery, but at the Slytherin table, unease leaned over the shoulders of every student. Eleanor Selwyn sat, uncomfortable, posture stiff, pushing her food around her plate rather than eating it. She barely acknowledged the ongoing conversation, if it could even be called that, between Gilda, Draco Malfoy, and Blaise Zabini.
Draco entertained as usual, sparing his contempt for easier targets. Blaise muttered responses when prompted, but his usual bravado was muted, replaced by a simmering frustration. He eyed Gilda at every opportunity, suggesting he bided his time to do more than just leer.
Eleanor's thoughts turned again to Gilda, friend-turned-enigma, who ate and spoke as if the unrest around her didn't exist. Eleanor was disgusted—not with Gilda, but with herself. She hated how much she craved reassurance, how just a few days of uncertainty gnawed at her. Gilda's ideologies, twisted as they were, were a conduit—a way to stay close to someone, the only one, who once shared her laughter and dreams.
Eleanor looked away, feeling a pang of self-loathing. The allure of aligning with Gilda's beliefs stung her over and over, an easy out that did little harm but preserve the status quo. She hated that she didn't have the strength to reject the notion outright. Temptation clung to Eleanor like a second skin. It made her rigid, compulsory, and controlled her reactions. It was instinct, and it preserved what it knew.
She forced herself to take a bite of food, staring straight ahead with unblinking eyes. On the other side of the table sat Elspeth Yaxley and Marcus Rosier, the first years most desperate to be taken under Gilda's wing. They hung on Gilda's every word, even when she wasn't speaking to them. Elspeth's dark eyes darted between Gilda and Caliban, perched smugly on her shoulder, while Marcus nodded enthusiastically whenever Gilda so much as glanced his way.
The first years' devotion wasn't surprising. Gilda had spent the mornings guiding them to their classes, turning away students from other houses who dared to seek her help. "I'm here for Slytherins," she'd said plainly. "Find someone from your own house to coddle you."
She walked them through the corridors with absolute confidence, pointing out shortcuts and passageways even the Ravenclaws hadn't seemed to know. When she sent them off to Potions, Gilda even helped navigate the infamous Severus Snape, her insight uncanny and precise.
"Don't over-chop the daisy roots," she'd told them in an instructive tone. "He'll take it as a personal insult to his craft."
Marcus and Elspeth followed all her advice to the letter, and found themselves rewarded with Snape's rare nod of approval. As the first week of school passed, their infatuation with Gilda had solidified into something tangible. They practically hovered, transfixed, as if losing sight of her was a failure of its own.
"Elspeth, Marcus," Gilda said suddenly, the sharpness of her tone making even Eleanor flinch.
The two startled, then quickly composed themselves, sitting up straighter. "Yes, Gilda?" Elspeth asked eagerly.
Caliban shifted on Gilda's shoulder, scarlet eyes narrowing as if scrutinizing them. Gilda smirked faintly, her fingers brushing the feathers near his head.
"You're fidgeting," she said simply. "It's unbecoming."
They froze, each attempting to look as poised as possible.
"Better," Gilda said, leaning back in her seat. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small owl treat, holding it between her fingers. "Caliban."
The creature snatched the treat from her hand with a sharp movement, his beak clicking as he devoured it.
"Would you like to give him one?" Gilda asked.
Elspeth and Marcus nodded so quickly that Eleanor laughed despite herself. Gilda handed them each a treat, watching with satisfaction as they hesitantly leaned over the table, approaching with cautious movements.
Caliban turned his head to face them, red eyes glowing faintly, both students suddenly uncertain whether it was wise to continue.
"He won't bite," Gilda said, though there was a mischievous edge to her voice. "Unless you've done something to offend him."
Elspeth extended her hand slowly, the treat trembling between her fingers. Caliban snatched it with a precise motion, so quick that she gasped. Marcus followed suit, less tentative after seeing Caliban's practiced feeding.
Blaise leaned toward Draco, muttering something about the display that made the latter smirk.
Watching Elspeth and Marcus settle back into their seats glowing with pride, Eleanor finally broke her silence. "You're training them like dogs," she whispered, still locked to her plate, mechanically cutting apart a slice of boiled ham.
"Not dogs," Gilda replied, her voice slight and dismissive. "Loyalists. The younger students are much simpler to win over, but I'm confident we'll branch out." She smiled at Eleanor, a plastic thing put on for show. "The year's just getting started."
Eleanor's stomach turned, but she didn't argue. She wasn't sure she had the strength.
Theodore and Pansy arrived at the Slytherin table, noting the apprehension that yet hung in the air. Theodore settled in across from Blaise, glancing at him with a knowing smirk. Pansy slipped into her seat beside Draco, her gaze shifting between Gilda and the others.
"What'd we miss?" Pansy asked casually, reaching for a roll.
"Not much." Draco smirked. "Just Gilda playing mother to the first years all morning. It's been delightful."
Blaise snorted. "Bet she even patted their backs and wiped their noses."
Pansy raised an eyebrow. "She's a prefect. That's what she's supposed to do."
"You know," Theodore added, his tone light but pointed. "Maybe Blaise could use a little mothering himself. He seems jealous."
Blaise's face darkened, his jaw tightening. "Careful, Nott. You might think you're funny, but—"
"But…" Theodore interrupted smoothly, taking a bite of his toast. "What?"
The tension at the table thickened, but Gilda kept her focus square on her plate. She cut a strawberry rolled crepe into sections as she listened in, satisfied with the terms of the current engagement.
Eleanor watched the exchange with a nervous eye, unsure whether to intervene as the two boys became increasingly heated. Blaise slammed his fist on the table, finger in Theodore's unserious face. Pansy just sighed and leaned back in her seat.
"Honestly, can we drop it? I don't think we've had a moment's peace since we got off the train. Before, even," Pansy added, exasperated. "It's lunch. We could get through one meal without someone biting someone else's head off."
"Funny you should say that," Theodore said, smirking as he motioned to Caliban, watching them as if barely restrained. "Looks like Gilda's pet is more likely to bite than she is."
Draco chuckled, but Blaise slammed his goblet down, the sound echoing along the table. "Oh, please," he said, glaring at Gilda. "Like she's not sitting there enjoying this, being the center of attention."
Gilda's gaze finally lifted, sharp and icy. "You're the one making me the center of attention, Zabini. I've been keeping to my responsibilities while you wallow in past grievances. I thought you would have moved on by now."
Blaise's mouth twitched, but before he could reply, a slight but clear voice cut through the growing argument.
"Nothing but an apology will make you look better right now." Elspeth eyed Blaise with a composed intensity that reached beyond her years. She unconsciously emulated her tutor as she continued – hands clasped in front of her, chin high, words uttered with precision – like every syllable was meant to be chiseled in stone.
"Gilda's been nothing but amazing," Marcus continued, though less eloquent. "She's smart. Taught us things before the teachers even mentioned them."
Blaise raised an eyebrow, his anger replaced with incredulity. "Oh, great. Now we've got to hear it from her little fan club."
Elspeth glared at him, her dark eyes narrowing. "Maybe if you minded your own business, you wouldn't have made a fool of yourself."
Draco let out a bark of laughter. Theodore grinned, clearly enjoying the spectacle. Pansy, however, leaned her head into her hand, sighing. "This is getting ridiculous."
Blaise turned his glare on the first years, his jaw tightening. "Watch your mouth, kid. You don't know who you're talking to."
"And you don't know when to stop," Gilda interjected, laying her cutlery on the table. "They're children, and they're right. You spend more time nursing your ego than sharpening your skills. Maybe that's why you lost. So easily, I might add."
Blaise's mouth opened and closed as he struggled to form a response, his face reddening. Around the table, other Slytherins watched the exchange with mixed reactions—some amused, others uneasy.
"I've had enough," Gilda continued, her gaze sweeping across the whole table. "I'm not here to be a source of entertainment. We could be coming together, united under a common cause. But no, you'd all rather wallow in uncertainty and squabble the days away."
Gilda met the eyes of every Slytherin at the table, pushing her glasses higher before forcing herself through another oration, another ordeal. "I shouldn't have to say the words, the specifics. I won't. You all know that the uneasy balance we've struck is tipping, one way or the other. And you all know who's standing on each side of that balance." She inclined her head slightly, barely meeting the alert gaze of Harry Potter from across the great hall. It seemed absurd, but he knew, somehow. Like he was hearing every word. She pressed her fingers into her legs under the table, the sensation just enough to keep her going.
"I want you to stop concerning yourself with me, and instead, start paying a close mind to what the coming days have in store for you. Inaction, wasting your days gossiping, idling, is going to cost you dearly."
The table remained silent, save for the clatter of plates and cutlery from other parts of the hall. Even Draco looked chastened, his smirk fading as he avoided Gilda's piercing gaze.
"I'm welcoming collaborators. Any Slytherin who embodies the ideals of the house they've been so proudly placed in is more than welcome to reach out to me. In fact, I think it would be prudent."
Empty faces judged one another the length of the Slytherin table, trepidation clutching their tongues behind their teeth, the reality of her offer sinking in. Caliban whispered feverishly in Gilda's ear, sensing the gravity of the moment, the uncharacteristic roughness in his owner's touch only furthering his agitation.
The steady hum of the Great Hall shifted as the owl post arrived, a flurry of wings and feathers descending over the students. Gilda barely looked up from her plate until her father's eagle owl swooped low, its sleek, dark form landing with practiced precision in front of her. The bird's talons clutched a small package and a black envelope sealed with a silver crescent moon.
Caliban bristled immediately at the intruding bird. His tail flicked sharply, and he shifted on Gilda's shoulder as if preparing to strike. The eagle owl ignored him, its empty gaze fixed only on Gilda.
"Enough, Caliban," Gilda murmured, placing a firm hand on his beak to silence him. He chirped once in irritation, the noise hollow in his beak, but she held his gaze, her tone unwavering. "Let him deliver it."
The eagle owl dropped the package and envelope neatly onto the table, its job done. With a disdainful glance at Caliban, it took off again, its wings beating powerfully as it ascended back into the swirling chaos above.
"Relax," Gilda muttered, giving her pet a brief scratch along his neck feathers. "Not everything is a threat."
Caliban let out a low, guttural murmur, but his posture softened, his talons easing their grip on her shoulder. Gilda turned her attention to the black envelope, breaking the silver crescent moon seal with practiced precision. Inside was a card, its message short and cryptic:
We will be there.
Gilda's expression tightened as she reread the words, her mind racing. Her mother's elegant handwriting was unmistakable, and the note's vagueness carried weight. It wasn't an update or a gesture of affection—it was a reminder, a quiet command. She tucked the card neatly into her robes.
Across the table, Eleanor leaned forward, her voice soft with curiosity. "Aren't you going to open the package?"
Gilda glanced at the box, then at Eleanor. With a small smirk, she slid it across the table. "It's not for me. It's for you."
Eleanor blinked, caught off guard. "For me?"
Gilda nodded, her tone neutral. "Go on."
The table had quieted, and the other Slytherins leaned in subtly, their curiosity piqued. Theodore raised an eyebrow, while Pansy glanced between Eleanor and Gilda with interest. The first years, Elspeth and Imogen, watched with wide eyes.
Eleanor hesitated, feeling the weight of so many stares. Carefully, she untied the black ribbon and lifted the lid. Inside, nestled on a bed of soft black cloth, was a gleaming silver brooch. Its design was intricate and unmistakable: a kingfisher perched triumphantly, its beak clutching five wands. The craftsmanship was exquisite, the detail so fine that its silvered feathers seemed soft.
For a moment, Eleanor simply stared, her breath catching in her throat.
"That's gorgeous," Pansy said, leaning closer. "Is that…?"
"The Selwyn crest," Gilda said simply.
Eleanor swallowed hard, lifting the brooch with trembling fingers. Beneath it, a folded note lay in the box. She picked it up, unfolding it to reveal Gilda's flowing handwriting:
The only gift I can think to give, to make you proud of the one you were already born with.
Eleanor's heart twisted as she read the words, a strange mix of pride and unease blooming in her chest. Her gaze flickered to Gilda, who was watching her intently.
"What's the story with it?" Theodore asked, nodding toward the brooch.
Eleanor cleared her throat, her voice quiet but steady. "The kingfisher represents perseverance. My family chose it centuries ago, when we… defended our name in duels. The wands in its beak are supposed to be the wands of our rivals."
There was a ripple of reaction at the table. Theodore let out an impressed whistle, and Pansy's eyes widened.
"That's intense," Pansy said. "I had no idea your family's crest was so—"
"Steeped in conflict," Eleanor finished softly, her fingers brushing the silver surface. She couldn't help the pang of pride that surged within her, nor the deeper ache that followed. The legacy of her family, once formidable and revered, now felt like a distant echo.
"Well? Are you going to wear it?" Draco asked.
Eleanor hesitated, but then, with a small nod, she pinned the brooch to her robes. The table seemed to exhale collectively as the tension eased slightly.
"It suits you," Pansy said with a smile.
"Perfectly," Theodore agreed.
Elspeth and Imogen murmured their approval, their admiration evident in their wide eyes.
Eleanor glanced at Gilda again, her voice quieter now. "Thank you."
Gilda gave a faint nod, her expression softening for just a moment. "You're welcome."
The table returned to its usual chatter, but Eleanor's mind lingered on the brooch and the note. Gilda's gesture wasn't just thoughtful—it was pointed. It carried a weight Eleanor couldn't yet put into words.
Across the table, Gilda leaned back in her chair, her hand idly stroking Caliban as he murmured softly in her ear. Whatever her parents' letter had meant, it could wait. For now, she let the quiet moment settle, knowing the storm was far from over.
As the conversation around the Slytherin table began to quiet, the arrival of the owl post and the departure of the mail carriers left Gilda still turning the cryptic message over in her mind.
We will be there.
The crescent moon seal was now as heavy in meaning as it had been in texture, and though the phrase itself was brief, the implications were anything but. Her parents never traveled without purpose. Their presence meant expectations—ones she wasn't sure she was ready to meet.
The hum of conversation throughout the Great Hall waned, drawing Gilda's attention. Dumbledore had risen from his seat, his long silver beard glowing faintly in the candlelight, his expression both serene and serious. Every gaze in the hall turned toward him, the room falling into silence.
"My dear students," Dumbledore began, his voice resonating across the hall with ease, "before we conclude this evening, I have an important announcement—one that will undoubtedly shape the days ahead and, perhaps, much more."
Gilda sat up straighter, her fingers brushing against the note tucked into her robes. Around her, the Slytherin table exchanged curious glances, even Draco paused mid-sentence to listen.
"This year," Dumbledore continued, "Hogwarts has been chosen to host a truly exceptional event: the Masquerade of Moons. For those unfamiliar, allow me to explain."
His words hung in the air for a moment, the weight of his announcement sinking in. Dumbledore took a step forward, his piercing blue eyes sweeping the hall.
"The Masquerade of Moons is a rare convergence of minds and cultures—a gathering steeped in history, in tradition. It is a summit where the magical world comes together to share, to discuss, and to shape the future of our communities."
Gilda froze, her hand tightening on the edge of the table as realization struck her like a thunderclap. Her parents' note, their sudden decision to involve themselves. They were coming to Hogwarts for this. The Masquerade. The image of their arrival, calculated and imposing, filled her mind. They wouldn't just be present; they would be making moves, using her as a piece on the board.
Dumbledore's voice drew her back to the present. "This event will bring many visitors to our halls—esteemed representatives of the international wizarding community, influential beings whose guidance and alliances are integral to our world. Together, they will work toward a greater understanding and collaboration between all magical beings."
The hall buzzed with whispers, but Gilda could only focus on the growing certainty in her mind. This wasn't just an event. This was a stage. A test. And she was expected to perform.
Dumbledore raised a hand, and the murmurs quieted. "However, the Masquerade of Moons is not merely a celebration. It is also a challenge. A challenge to each of us to rise above our differences, to engage with one another meaningfully, and to prove that the magical world can come together—even in times of great uncertainty."
Gilda's gaze flicked toward the staff table, her sharp green eyes narrowing as Dumbledore's words sunk in. She didn't miss the way his gaze briefly swept over her before continuing. Did he know? Did he understand what her family's presence here would mean?
"The choices we make during this Masquerade will shape not only Hogwarts but the future of magic as we know it," Dumbledore said. "There is much to gain, but also much at stake. I trust you will approach the days ahead with dignity, courage, and curiosity."
The hall erupted into murmurs once again, the students' excitement and unease palpable. At the Slytherin table, Eleanor leaned closer to Gilda, her expression hesitant.
"Your parents, they're coming for this, aren't they?" Eleanor whispered.
Gilda nodded, her jaw tightening. "Yes. They are." She glanced down at her hands, then back toward the staff table. "And I'm going to need you. All of you."
Dumbledore returned to his seat, the staff table resuming its quiet composure even as the hall buzzed with life. Gilda stayed still, her mind whirring. Whatever the Masquerade of Moons truly held, she knew one thing for certain: her parents expected her to seize this opportunity. And failure wasn't an option.